


Dinomite

by drunktuesdays



Series: tumblr fics [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 22:25:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1619168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunktuesdays/pseuds/drunktuesdays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For llassah, for the tfln prompt</p><p>(303): apparently while i was high i thought that putting a dinosaur temporary tattoo on my inner thigh would keep me from taking my pants off and having sex with him…</p><p>(303): …it didn’t…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinomite

**Author's Note:**

> [repost](http://drunktuesdaze.tumblr.com/post/77646044278/for-llassah-for-the-tfln) from tumblr 1/23/2014
> 
> there is sex after drug use, but there is explicit consent

Stiles knows that having sex with Derek is a bad idea. He knows it in his bones.

"Yeah," Scott says. "It makes both of you all weird and moody."

"So a normal day for Derek," Stiles says.

"No," Scott says. "I can tell the difference. We have a connection. We’re brothers."

"You hated him like, all first semester," Stiles scoffs. He steals the joint from Scott’s lax fingertips and sucks it in, exhaling carefully out of Scott’s window, lips mashed up against the screen. They’re a little numb and he gets lost for a second, smushing his face like a pancake. 

"Don’t have sex with Derek," Scott says. "In fact, stop banging my frat brothers all together. You should bang a Sigma Phi, I don’t care about anyone in Sigma Phi."

"Noted," Stiles says. "I’ll be sure to go to their next mixer."

He’s steady on his feet when he leaves Scott’s room but loose-limbed and happy, and instead of trudging down the stairs and back to his own dorm, his feet seem to turn on their own, down the hall to the last door on the left. It’s unlocked, and Stiles locks it behind him, toes off his shoes.

"Christ you smell," Derek says from the lump of blankets on the bed. Stiles takes a running leap and lands right on top of him, laughing delightedly at Derek’s grunt. He leans down, traps Derek’s arms in the blankets and kisses him, clumsy, banging his nose into Derek’s.

"Christ," Derek says again, and dislodges Stiles’s hold, rolls him sideways until Stiles can squirm into Derek’s cocoon. It’s drafty in Derek’s room, especially where Derek’s bed is pressed up against the window, and Stiles relishes the warm pocket of Derek’s body heat. They kiss again, this time lined up correctly, perfectly slotted for Stiles to slide his tongue against Derek’s, filthy and wet.

"How high are you?" Derek murmurs, carding his fingers through Stiles’s hair. "You want to sleep it off?"

"Nah," Stiles says. "I’m here." His skin feels good where Derek’s touching him, like the bumps of his spine have suddenly become an erogenous zone, like his whole body is a live wire.

Derek kisses him again, slides his hands down from Stiles’s back to his hips, and then drags the hem of Stiles’s shirt up and off. Stiles helps him, sits up and drags his jeans off, kicking them sideways until they drop over the side of the mattress. Derek’s shirtless already, but he rolls off of Stiles, lies on his back and arches his hips up to shimmy out of his sleep pants.

"You’re ridiculous," Stiles says, licking his lips as he watches. Derek smirks at him, comes back to cover Stiles again, traces a path from his ear to his jaw, to his neck and further, moving along the line of Stiles’s body until it feels like every nerve is oriented to where Derek is, where he’s touching him, with his lips and his tongue and his teeth. Stiles can’t help himself, he humps up once, twice, drags his cock against any part of Derek he can touch, until Derek presses him back down, peels off his boxers.

Derek’s head is dipping right where Stiles wants him, and he’s closing his eyes in anticipation of that impossible pleasure when he feels Derek still. His fingers wrap around Stiles’s thigh, shoves it up and wide. “What,” he says, “is that?”

Stiles has to crane his head to see, is about to make a dick joke when he remembers. There’s a temporary tattoo slapped on his thigh, the backing still attached. Shit, he totally forgot he did that, forgot he stripped and let Scott dump the remains of a water bottle against the dumb little T-Rex they had collected from the gum ball machines in the grocery store next door.

Derek peels it back carefully now, revealing the cartoonish green dinosaur with the bright garish Dinomite! under it. “Classy,” Derek says, crumpling up the backing paper and tossing it sideways.

"Only the best for you, baby," Stiles says, deciding just to own it. He spreads his thighs even wider, says "better seal it with a kiss."

Derek does just that, and follows it up with a hickey right next to it, dark and obscene and mildly hilarious. Stiles isn’t laughing though, at least not right now, not when Derek’s moving higher, mouthing over Stiles’s balls to lick up over Stiles’s cock, until finally, finally, he takes him in.

Stiles loves this, has always loved blowjobs, giving and getting. He doesn’t think he’s ever gotten a bad one, but he certainly has never gotten anything like he gets from Derek. Derek sucks him like he’s playing an instrument, like he knows where to press and to slide his tongue to get Stiles choking out the worst kind of noises, the ones that come from his throat and chest, weird and screechy. Derek fingers him too, with the kind of coordination Stiles has never been able to master. He’s got Stiles open and panting for it before Stiles even registers Derek’s gotten him to take four, gotten him slick enough for almost Derek’s whole hand.

"Now," he grunts, and kicks out at Derek’s shoulder. "Now, now, now, now you bastard, come on, just," and he sighs at the slide of Derek’s fingers, pressing up to stroke at him one more time before they’re free and Derek’s coming up to kiss him again, to fumble between them until he’s in. Stiles is concentrating so hard on the press of Derek’s cock, the stretch of it that he only dimly notices that Derek is rubbing circles, right over the dumb tattoo Scott gave him.

"T-Rex get you going?" he grits out, shoving down until Derek’s in all the way.

"Yeah," Derek snorts, finally moving, finally giving it to him like Stiles needs. "Want you covered with them, a whole sleeve of them, maybe pterodactyls right here," and he dips to kiss Stiles’s collarbones, and they’re laughing, helpless and giddy together as they move. Stiles feels like he’s flying, like a helium balloon straining towards the sky, only anchored by the hot slide of Derek’s dick in him. It’s a weird thought but Stiles feels its truth, and suddenly needs more, more of Derek touching him, needs to feel weighed and tethered. He reaches down, pulls Derek’s hands away from his thighs, threads his fingers through Derek’s instead. Derek gets him, always gets him and rubs his thumb soothingly against Stiles’s knuckles, presses their joined hands down into the mattress as his hips snap forward, pounding Stiles farther and farther towards that rush that Stiles can’t find with anyone else, that cliff he can only tip over when he’s here, wrapped up in Derek, in his bed, under his hands. "Sorry Scott," he thinks and then it hits, and he comes hard, seizing up as he spills between them. Derek makes a wounded, high noise and then he’s letting go of Stiles’s hands, hikes up Stiles’s hips again and goes to town, shoving and jerking in a rhythmless frenzy that’s making Stiles spin in an overloaded, breathless, delight before Derek’s freezing up, holding still as he presses as tight as he can into Stiles’s body. 

When they twist free, Stiles feels as sated and pleased as a pampered cat in a sunbeam. He stretches, revels in the various aches and pulling in his muscles, the soft sensitivities that will turn into bruises he can inspect later. Derek uses his sleep pants to wipe them up, and then shoves at Stiles’s limp and pliant body until they’re spooned up tight with the comforter tucked tightly against their shoulders.

There’s a long blissful silence and then Stiles says, “how come you can buy hamburgers in a drive-thru, but not pizza?”

"Sleep," Derek grunts. "Pizza in the morning."

"Or delivery McDonald’s," Stiles muses. "I’d eat a quarter pounder in a—" and Derek’s hand comes up, heavy and warm over Stiles’s mouth. It still faintly smells of jizz, and Stiles wants to protest but he is sleepy, and it’s kind of nice, Derek’s body all around him, like another blanket.

He wakes up to intense morning sun, because Derek never got around to buying blinds, and the sun just streams in as it rises. Derek’s still out, his perfect mouth slack and lush in sleep, his eyelashes fanning out over his cheek. Stiles loves this, the quiet moments where he can appreciate Derek, before the regret kicks in, of knowing in the sober light of day what a bad idea it is. He’s just contemplating sneaking out, going home in his wrinkled, pot infused clothes, braving the cold judgement of the other kids in his honors dorm when Derek stirs, smiles at him sleepily.

"Morning," he says, stretching his arms out over his head.

"Morning, sunshine," Stiles says. "And what a bright one it is."

"Yeah," Derek says. "One might say dinomite."

Stiles bursts out laughing in spite of himself, drawing his leg up towards the edge of the blanket so he can see it. It’s cracked now, worn off around the edges but it’s still together enough to make out and Stiles shakes his head. “Another failed strategy,” he says, when he gets his giggles under control.

"What do you mean?" Derek says, tracing over the tattoo and the mark he laid next to it.

"It was Scott’s idea," Stiles says. "Was supposed to embarrass me enough to keep me out of here, but he should have known how shameless I am."

Derek doesn’t laugh, doesn’t look remotely amused. “Nice,” he says, and flings the covers back, the easy morning pleasantness completely decimated. 

"Derek," Stiles says, sitting up. He feels helpless, clumsy, the way he always does when Derek gets like this.

"I don’t come to you," Derek explodes, yanking jeans up over his hips angrily. "I don’t come crawling into your bed, I don’t press you for anything."

"I know," Stiles says. "I know, and I’m sorry—"

"I let you alone, I know you don’t feel like I do, and that’s fine, but you can’t keep—it’s cruel, Stiles.”

"Wait," Stiles says, leaping to his feet. "You—hang on, what is that supposed to mean. I don’t feel like you do? What is that?"

"You don’t want me like I want you," Derek says. "For you it’s just, whatever, nighttime hookups, and I’m giving you that, but don’t make me feel shitty for wanting more."

"More?" Stiles says, his eyes big and round. "You want more? With me?"

"Don’t act like you don’t know," Derek says, coldly. "I’ve given you opportunities, and you run off, every time."

"You never!" Stiles protests. "When did you—opportunities—what?” He hears the words, but Derek cannot mean what he’s saying, not when Stiles is the one—Stiles has pined.

"Go," Derek says, holding the door open. "Just go run off, do your little walk of shame."

"No way, nope," Stiles says, and he gets up only to kick the door shut. He still hasn’t put on his pants, and it’s in all his naked glory he says, "are you saying a relationship has been on the table this whole time?"

"Obviously," Derek says rolling his eyes. Then he freezes, says, "Are you saying you would have wanted that?"

"Obviously," Stiles shrieks, and he stalks forward, shoving Derek against the desk, presses in between Derek’s thighs to kiss him, pull his face closer by the hair. "I didn’t know," he says, breaking away to catch a breath, and then diving back in. "I’m never leaving now, you can’t," and he bites at Derek’s jaw, "you can’t make me."

"Yes," Derek groans out. "I’ll give you a drawer, a key, just stay, just," and he brings Stiles off right there, lets Stiles rut up against his hand until he comes, and then Stiles drops, sucks him off until Derek’s howling, earning them a loud thump from his angry neighbor.

Derek herds him back towards the bed when they have their legs back, dumps him in the middle and crawls after him. “You’re my boyfriend,” Stiles tries out. “My sweetheart, my beau, my steady guy.”

"Boyfriend is fine," Derek says, but his lips are twitching and Stiles has to kiss a smile on his face, has to press up close. Scott’s an idiot, he thinks. Having sex with Derek was the best decision.

*

He walks with Kira, arm in arm across the lawn to the frat house. Kira’s steady in her heels, but the spring grass is damp and soft and he can be a gentleman when he wants to be.

"A pinning ceremony," Kira moans. "I can’t believe we’re doing this."

"I know," Stiles says. "The things we suffer through." He spots Allison and a few of the other significant others, and they all line up, wait quietly for their partners to solemnly approach, carrying out their dumb tradition. 

Derek steps in front of him, close, He’s got something in his fingers, reaching out for Stiles’s lapel. It’s not gold like the other ones Stiles has seen and before he can help himself, he reaches out to stop Derek, to inspect it.

It’s a dinosaur pin, a green T-Rex and Derek’s written “Dinomite” in sharpy along the bottom. Stiles laughs and laughs, earning them dirty looks and shushes from the other brothers, and he tries to hold it in, tries to stop shaking long enough for Derek to get the pin through his suit.

"Can’t embarrass me away," he whispers, when Derek drops his hands.

"Counting on it," Derek whispers back, and catches up his hand to squeeze tightly.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [(podfic of) Dinomite](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1652066) by [neverbalance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverbalance/pseuds/neverbalance)




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